Maturity
by flandar
Summary: Sylmeria decides that a sword and shield isn't a fighting style that works for her, Fergus doesn't understand what's the issue and Bryce does his best to provide moral support. One shot.


Hold your sword with a firm grip, and keep your shield from slipping!"

Live steel was heavy, and the shield made her slow.

"Keep yourself steady, if you fall in a duel you will die!"

The wooden shield was bulky and heavier than the sword. It would slip from her hand and slide up and down her forearm, leaving the skin red and chafed. She had no balance.

"You can be disarmed with such sloppy balance, Sylmeria!"

Sylmeria opened her mouth to give protest but her brother was too quick. His sword met hers with such force that when her blade was deflected from his and her body thrown into the direction of her arm. Her hands felt buttery and sore from the force of the swords meeting and and she barely felt the blade slipping from her hand. Her fingers awkwardly reached for the blade, but gravity was too fast. When the blade clattered upon the floor, Fergus was upon her, letting no time go to waist as the pommel of his blade shoved the shield off of her arm. Sylmeria said nothing as she balanced was lost. She tumbled back and fell to the dirt, her reflexes doing nothing to help keep her on her feet. When she looked up, Fergus pointed the live steel at her.

"You've lost, sister."

"I don't know why you insist I must fight "honorably." What good are such things when you loose? If I was fighting anyone else, I'd be dead!" She hissed, upset with her consecutive losses. This loss made five, and Fergus's laugh did little to ease her anger.

"You're a Cousland, the honor is in your blood. You have to show it in how you fight as well, sister! But, well, sorry to say, your gender must be catching up to you." He grinned, and moved his hand to muss her hair. Fergus had always shown skill for the sword and shield, and he never let Sylmeria forget that when they dueled. She slapped his hand away and brushed the dirt from her pants as she stood. She tried to keep her gaze strong and stern to let her brother know that she eager to stop the tears that welled.

"I'm only 11..." She whispered, her arms crossed.

"I'm only 17, but that makes no difference. When I was your age I knew what to do and how to hold my ground properly." There were few times when Fergus would stop smiling and speak as a nobleman should. This was one of those times. With a sharp turn and a wipe at the eyes, Sylmeria walked away quickly, ignoring her brother's calls.

From the quartermaster's corner, Bryce had watched the events between his children unfold. He gave a sympathetic look to Fergus as he passed, knowing all too well how difficult Sylmeria was to give lessons to. Fergus was a good teacher despite his age, but his daughter was young and ill-tempered, something that was a challenge to anyone. He left his son standing quietly, and headed in the direction of where Sylmeria has disappeared to.

As he entered the corridor and walked to his daughter's room he paused, mouth twitching into a small smile as he heard her muttering, a habit she had when she was upset. She was just like her mother sometimes.

"Pup? May I come in?"

The muttering stopped, and silence moved in. Slowly, the door opened. His daughter's eyes were red and puffy, and her mouth was stuck in a pout, but she did not let the tears fall in his presence. Bryce smiled sadly, and placed his hand on her head. "Come, sit down with me." He said, nodding towards her bed. Sylmeria stood by the door, staring at the bed in reluctance. Her eyes darted from the creased linens of her bed to her father, and slowly she walked over.

"I am not as good as Fergus, and it goads me." Sylmeria complained, standing beside her half-eaten lunch that sat upon her nightstand.

"You are 11." Bryce stated matter-o-factly, his eyes studying his daughter as she picked up a dull knife and tried to stick it into a grape. The small thing evaded and rolled about despite the repeated attempts to puncture it.

There was a pause in the agitated stabbing. "But he was-"

"Skilled, yes, but he has six more years of experience than you do. Did you know he couldn't even hit a single mark with the bow we gave him? Yet you picked the bow up and shamed him as easily as breathing." Bryce chuckled, thinking of Fergus's shocked face. Sylmeria took after her mother with the bow, and while she wasn't the best marksman, she was good for her age. Fergus had gotten better with time, but he had taken after Bryce, and was a slow learner. The thought made Bryce smile; his wife could easily show the lot of them up with her skills in archery. There was no beating the lady of the house at her own game.

Sylmeria shrugged, taking small pleasure in the thought of having her own natural skill. The happiness was short lived, however. "I can't fight with a sword and shield. it does not feel natural, but... but as a Cousland, should I not show honor in my battles?" She asked meekly, still gripping the knife as she sat by her father.

"As a Cousland you must survive," was the stern reply. "Our family has always been threatened by politics and scheming rats. There have been times in our history where our family line was nearly annihilated. Your mother and I fought as rebels, as outlaws, against the Orlesians who viewed us as the usurpers for merely wanting to take back our rightful country. Our honor was in what we fought for and the sacrifices we made, not how we held our blade."

Sylmeria said nothing. She eyed the ground and kept her head low, fingers playing with the knife in nervous movements. She felt ashamed for saying such things now. She had been so caught up in her anger and jealousy that she had not seen how foolish her complaints were. Sighing, Sylmeria glanced at her father in the corner of her eye. "I understand, father. But how will I duel if I cannot stand my own?"

"Duels are dangerous, my dear girl. I pray that your battles will not come to that, if you battle at all." Bryce replied solemnly, his head shaking as he did so. Sylmeria made a face and sat up straight, her humble perspective diminishing quickly as her hotheadedness took over. "But King Maric-" she began, only to be cut off by another stern interjection.

"...Made a bold and dangerous move when he challenged Meghren to duel." Bryce frowned.

Sylmeria groaned and rolled her eyes, finding irony in her father's cautious comment. She flipped the knife in her hands absent mindedly and stood, her legs restless at her romanticism of her country's history. "Father, you're forgetting our family's words. Fortune favors the bold, no? Besides, Meghren was a brash tyrant who would take the duel to prove his worth. Only a fool falls into a trap such as that." She smiled, and stabbed the air with the dull silverware.. Bryce merely shook his head and withheld a chuckle at the change in moods. He stood, and gently took her shoulders.

"I see, pup. But never confuse tact and bold stupidity. I am a father who had seen too much of battle to want to let my little girl off into battle.. May you never have to, my dear girl. It is a grim thing."

"I understand, father," Sylmeria smiled softly, her eyes lingering on her father's before they went back to the knife in her hands. She rolled the silverware about her fingers and flipped it in the air once more, staring at it intently once it landed in the palm of her hands. Bryce raised a brow, about to speak when the girl moved the blade up and down and bolted for the door, smiling big all the while.

"Pup?" He asked curiously. Sylmeria only jumped up and down in obvious glee. "What is it?"

"I've got an idea!" She replied, and left the room in a brisk walk without so much as a glance in her father's direction. Bryce wasn't surprised, his daughter had a penchant for sudden spur of the moment ideas. Rather, he was curious as to what plan she concocted this time. Walking out into the hallway, he caught sight of her just before she exited the corridor. "Sylmeria, where are you going?"

"To the kitchens, father!"

~~~ Ten years later.

It was a sunny day, warm with a light breeze and no marine layer in sight. Summer brought the Coastlands such nice days, but to have a warm day both sunny and with clear skies was a rare sight indeed. Castle Cousland especially appreciated the warmth, and days like this the old stones of Sylmeria's home would soak up the heat and retain it far into the night. Often this would make the castle stuffy and humid, but Sylmeria loved it nonetheless. In summer she could wear loose linen blouses and roughspun trousers that let the breeze right through them, keeping her cool in defense of the castle's heat. It was especially enjoyable to go horseback riding in this weather. Sylmeria would escape from her studies of politics and combat and sneak off to her chestnut mare, slip off her shoes and girdle and mount her horse bareback, speeding through the dangerously small opening of the castle gates as the guards scrambled to open them in time. She loved the speed she could attain and the wind through her short hair, the sight of shining gold and green grass as it reflected the sun, and the freedom she'd feel dressed like a commoner and riding like a Chasind. The fields, hills, far off mountains and distant marine layer looked all so beautiful to Sylmeria. She'd bask in this beauty for hours, letting her mare graze whilst she lay in the grass and napped or mused. Sometimes she would even ride all the way to the beaches, climb down the rocky hillsides carefully, and search for small items and pretty rocks. She was twenty-one now, and despite the chiding her parents would give her upon returning from her childish play she knew that in some small way they did not mind her disappearances.

She was returning from such a ride now, her clothes half wet and bare feet covered with crusted sand. Her hair was frizzed and unruly, wet with sweat and salt and beginning to wave in the direction of the constant pushing back Sylmeria did to keep the strands from her eyes. Her cheeks and nose were flushed red, something that wasstill noticeable even on her olive skin. Her constant combat training and horse riding created the darker hue, and although she still retained much of her pale coloring under her clothes she looked considerably darker than pasty family. It was this light tan mixed with her plain clothes that had fooled one of the new household guards. It was a funny thing, really, until he had threatened to have her flogged as her father passed. Then the joke became short lived.

Sylmeria sat on a flipped bucket as she rubbed off the dried sand from her feet. Some mud and dirt from the castle stables had found their way between her toes as well, but that was much less irritating wear her shoes with. Her horse had been watered, the reigns removed and her coat brushed and cleaned. All that was left was to clean herself up, but such things would require a bath and a bath would come later. For now she'd clean her feet to be suitable for shoes. As she reached for a nearby wet cloth, her eyes caught sight of Fergus nearing. She looked away quickly and hoped he did not notice her awareness, but she knew that he had seen her staring and had no doubt that he had some snark-filled comment awaiting her. They were family, after all.

"You ran off so suddenly, Aldous spent half of the day looking for you because he had found that book you requested. He found me instead, and spent the following hour chiding me about you and how you provoke his growing arthritis. Do you enjoy hurting the ever so fragile health of our old teacher, sister?"

"You've married and fathered a child. In a few years, you'll need that information about arthritis." Sylmeria grinned. By now, most of the sand was gone from her left foot. She placed the soaking cloth on her lap and reached for her leather boots, taking the appropriate shoe and placing it over the clean foot. She'd find stockings later.

"Haha, very funny," Fergus grunted as he leaned against one of the stable's beams, his voice monotone, "but I seem to recall father and mother being closer to the age of old aches than I."

"You would laugh at our lord father and lady mother's pain? And they claim you're the good child." There was a snorting noise from her brother's direction, as well as feigned hurt as he placed his hand to his chest.

"Well, now you just sound jealous."

"Now you just sound childish." Sylmeria replied haughtily. Their comments were said in good humor, voices never caring to conceal the dramatic and sarcastic flare at the end of each word. They would often speak in such ways, never taking the other seriously unless a situation dictated such behavior. Neither of their parents seemed to mind, and more oft than naught Sylmeria caught her father rolling his eyes and grinning and her mother trying to stifle a loud laugh. Humor was the virtue of their family, Sylmeria liked to think, and knew that when things were silent and smiles were lacking something was indeed wrong.

"Me? Childish? Pshh, I don't know what you're talking about." Fergus said innocently, leaning against one of the stable beams. "At any rate, father has received a letter from Denerim. King Cailan sends his regards, and speaks of visiting in the future. He has not visited Highever for years now, do you remember when we would laugh and eat together in the courtyard and fields? Or what about father and mother, always so serious with King Maric and Teyrn Loghain? I enjoyed their visits."

"I remember you dotting over Anora, Anora awkwardly laughing at your compliments, and Cailan a brat who thought himself more mature than I because he was two years my senior." Sylmeria shrugged, a small sigh escaping. For Fergus those things were precious memories, things that he'd remember when walking in the places they used to sit around. In a small sense it was these memories that gave his loyalty strength; the memories of who his king and queen used to be, the memories of the goodness in their hearts. By blood their loyalty was deep, it was their duty as a Cousland to serve the crown. But Fergus always had stronger sense of personal loyalty to their kingdom. The food they shared and the wine they drank that day marked them as so much more than a king and queen in her brother's eyes.

As she pulled on another shoe, Sylmeria spoke again. "I also remember never quite being apart of your little party, and instead avoiding all of you."

"Well," Fergus chuckled awkwardly, "That was of your choosing."

"Yes, well, maybe for the better. It was a humorous thing to watch you being glared at by Loghain and chided by father for flirting with the kingdom's future queen."

"You know how children can be..." Fergus shrugged, and mischievous smiling forming. He did woo Anora; Maric, Loghain and their father were well aware of the conversations between the two. Cailan didn't care, and that was likely what saved Fergus from harsher punishment.

"Fergus, you are six years older than me! You were already a man grown when you flirted with our queen. That's far from being a child."

"Details, sister! Use that ever sharp memory of yours for other things than shaming me. Besides, you were the highlight of some gossip too. If I remember correctly, Loghain had seen your practicing your new... style, and found it reminiscent of the elves he lead into battle during the rebellion. Maric even mentioned it as rather cutthroat, considering you were quiet the little lady."

"Little Lady" was a nickname that had a habit of coming up when Sylmeria liked it least. As a child all was well, it was almost cute. But as she passed her fourteenth year the name just became mocking. She was hardly the pretty child, and womanhood only make the hump of her nose and jut of her chin more apparent. "Hmm, wonderful. The king compared my style to thugs and the Teyrn of Gwaren found me similar to a group of smart raiders. I completely see the compliment, brother." In truth, Sylmeria took pride in her style. She had perfected it to fit her perfectly, working with her size to amplify strength and conceal weakness. She had once been hurt by the ill comments directed to her combat methods. Now she knew that what she did was for her best interest, and regretted none of it.

"One day I am sure your harsh style will save your life, Sylmeria. You've managed to hand our household guards' arses to them, and beaten me on occasion. Surely that means something." Fergus shrugged, his eyes resting on her tired mare. They lingered there even after Sylmeria began to speak.

"On occasion?" She smirked, cocking an eyebrow as she stood. She had beaten her brother more than once, and despite their scores being equal she liked to think that her victories were higher in numbers than his. "That is a weak try to conceal the truth. Can't admit that your little sister has bested you more times than you'd like?"

A mischievous smile grew on Fergus's face. He pushed off of the beam and crossed his arms, eyes filled with amusement. "You really think my victories are not higher than yours? That's such an outlandish notion, we both know that when it comes to holding ground you are felled much easier."

"Oh, really now? I would like to put that theory to the test. I don't believe you'll win as easily as you think." Sylmeria baited, her smirk slowly gradually becoming a large grin.

"Get your weapons, sister." Fergus finished, his smile as large as his sister's as he turned to leave.

That was how many of their spars would begin. One party would mention something that lead to another, and eventually both parties were armed and ready to begin. As the years went by the intensity of their fights would increase, and more and more both siblings would wake bruised and sore slightly bloody for the rest of the week. Sometimes blood would be drawn when they were careless, but never from the sharpness of a blade and rather one party taking a shield in the face.

"Have marriage and children stunted your speed, dear brother?"

Sylmeria's foot stepped on Fergus's, and her elbow met his face as her body turned.

"Ha! You must wish harder, dear sister. After all, I am the man, so the duty to protecting the wife and child falls to me!"

With a grunt, Fergus's shoved his shield into his sister, pushing her away.

"Oh, how I pity Orianna and Oren!" Sylmeria countered as she regained balance. "It is no small wonder why Oren has asked me to teach him swordplay!"

"He asked you to do wh-" Fergus began, childish dismay on his face. Sylmeria wasted no time with this little slip up. Her twin daggers blocked his sword pushed it out of the way, while foot kicked him in the gut. Fregus stumbled, regained his balance, and swung his shield arm to push his sister away, but the counter attack was done too slow. Sylmeria ducked and crouched close to the ground, smirk forming in amusement. The pommel of her dagger slammed into his crotch while one arm wrapped itself around her brother's leg. Pulling him forward, Fergus fell to the ground witha thud.

He let out a groan rolled onto his sides, his body tucking into a small and pitiful ball. "Why must you go... below the damned belt?" He breathed, brows furrowed and face red. Sylmeria rolled her eyes and stood up, her hands on her hips. "Your trews are no protection against such attacks. I just suppose your gender is just catching up to you." She snickered, foot lightly hitting her brother's back.


End file.
